The Stranger's Obituary

by Jessica L. Randall

  “I'm not leaving Auburn,” Mina said. “But I'll try not to care what they say.”

  Chapter 5

  The Old Hodgers and Mr. Mars

  Calvin tipped his head slightly as the front door opened. He didn't jump up and clutch his camera, as the others would have done, just as he didn't follow his competition from place to place, always trying to get ahead of the action like a kid trying to get to the piñata after the big explosion. Calvin was patient. If you stayed calm, you could get all the candy you wanted by looking in the places no one else was paying attention to as they piled on top of each other. It just took a little time.

  The others had already moved on to the next story. It was cold here. And the coffee was bad. Like, really bad. Calvin wasn't here for the coffee, and he had that hunch that told him there was more story here than a fading Hollywood sweetheart lashing out at her cheating boyfriend and running home to hide.

  He'd asked around town about the Fairchild sisters. After all, the internet didn't know everything. It was hard sometimes to get information in a small town, but he was good at laying on the right amount of charm and zeroing in on the right people: the talkers. That first morning, at the crack of dawn, he'd driven around town and spotted a woman with big hair and a sequined top out getting her paper. When he said hello and she gave him that eager look of curiosity, Calvin knew she was the one.

  He knew how to work these people. It was a give and take. Betsy was pleased to be among the first in town to hear about Bernadette's return, and the swarm of reporters gathering around the little bungalow, and was happy to give him a little information in return. He knew she was holding out on a few details, but she told him enough to make him realize he would be here awhile.

  So it was with curiosity he'd watched the house that day, hoping for a glimpse of her in the window. Not Bernadette, the other one. Mina. The one who kept to herself, usually showing up in public just long enough to stock up on groceries to hole away like a squirrel. He knew where the money was, of course, and what his boss would want from him, and he'd get the shots he needed. But he'd never been able to completely stifle his interest in people; a need to find out why they did what they did. His co-workers laughed at him for it. But aside from scratching that odd itch of his, it often led him to the discoveries that made him the highest paid reporter at his paper.

  For all his preparation, he was thrown off kilter when Mina Fairchild glanced out the window. He'd expected to see a much older, plain face that held at least a subtle whisper of resemblance to her super-star sister. But the round, dark eyes that peered out, pleading for help as they passed over the uninvited guests filling her yard, were nothing like Bernadette's. When she'd pulled back, startled at the camera shoved in her face, he'd felt guilty for being part of this. It had been a long time since he'd felt that.

  He'd waited for her face to show up at the window again. When she did peek through, looking like a haunted spirit trapped behind the glass, he found he couldn't look away from those eyes. When he'd asked, “How long can you hide from the world in there,” he wasn't sure which sister he was talking to.

  He used to be an empathetic person. Occasionally that tendency leaked out when he took special interest in a subject. He was intrigued by Mina, but he had it under control. Above all else, he took pride in doing his job well. It wasn't passion that drove him. More like playing a game and winning.

  He watched as Mina, arms folded tightly in a thick sweater that slumped off her shoulder, followed the old woman out of the house. They walked down the concrete steps and headed toward a gold Cadillac, Mina's gaze falling anywhere but on Calvin. Her desperate attempt not to look at him meant that she was very much aware of him. Next, he needed to make her like him.

  Something big had to be going on to lure the woman from her home. He felt a moment's hesitation about leaving Bernadette behind, but a familiar tingling sensation brought him to his feet. He'd learned to trust his instincts. Whether Mina Fairchild liked it or not, he was going to be her shadow.

  When she saw that Calvin had walked to his car, Mina's eyes narrowed and she stared him down.

  “News is so slow you're interested in following a couple of small-town women to lunch?”

  “Your sister ready to answer some questions?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “A guy's gotta eat.”

  As he was about to drop into the front seat he saw Mina step back toward the house, the old woman holding tight to her sleeve.

  She argued in a low voice, but it rose as she said, “It's not a good idea. He can't see this.”

  Tilting his ear toward them, he waited. She glanced back, noticing she had his full attention, then lifting her chin, she got into the car.

  The old woman drove slowly, and every once in a while she shoved on her brakes, presumably just to mess with him. He hung back, slowing to about ten miles per hour. There was no rush, but he had to admit his curiosity was peaked.

  A couple of minutes later they were downtown. The gold Cadillac pulled into a parking spot near the diner, so Calvin turned into the nearest space and got out of his Honda Civic. He kept his eyes on the two women as they walked toward a cluster of people in front of the diner.

  “She's here. Everybody stand back,” a woman said, pushing the crowd away with her arms.

  An attractive woman, Calvin guessed her to be in her mid-forties, glared at a dark-haired man he recognized from the diner. She sat on a bar stool, holding her arm as if it hurt, and someone was bandaging her knee.

  “This is ridiculous,” the woman said. “I told you, I felt someone shove me from behind. There was no one else around. I would call a lawyer right now had you all not chased the only one we had left away.”

  This worked the crowd into a bit of a frenzy, everyone shouting out at once. He recognized the woman he'd spoken to the other day, Betsy. She looked like someone just tromped on her rose garden.

  “I never touched Susan,” the diner man said, keeping his cool.

  “Everyone knows that,” Betsy said out of the side of her mouth to her neighbor. “That's what this is really all about.”

  “Just let Mina do her thing,” an old man with a sheriff's badge cut in.

  Calvin stepped in closer. Just what was it Mina was here for?

  “This is why I'm here?” Mina asked. “To solve a preschool-caliber argument?”

  Calvin had to admit, he was pretty disappointed himself.

  The sheriff walked over to Mina and touched her arm gently.

  “I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't want you to have to come out, but there was no stopping them from calling you. It could help us clear the area though, if we could figure out what really happened. And we'd both hate to see Doug get into trouble.”

  “Fine.” Mina glanced around, glaring as she affirmed that Calvin was close by. She grabbed an iPod from the injured woman. She leaned toward her so that Calvin could barely hear. “What were you listening to?”

  The woman rolled her eyes, looking impatient and skeptical.

  “Bruno Mars. “Just the Way You Are.””

  Calvin pressed record on his phone as Mina put the buds in her ears and pressed the button. Why was she stopping to listen to Bruno Mars? Part of her process for settling local disputes?

  “There's no power. This thing isn't working. Guess I'm done here.”

  “You broke my iPod, Doug. You're paying for this!”

  “Wait.” Doug grabbed Mina's arm. “I'll get my stereo.”

  Doug hurried into the diner and brought out a stereo, circa 1990, and plugged it into an outside outlet. He stuck a cord into it to connect it to his phone, then squinted his eyes as he searched for the song. “Okay, I got it.” He punched a button with a large finger, then punched it again.

  He growled. “Nothing!”

  The crowd buzzed, eyeing each other nervously.

  “Never enough weird for Auburn,” Mina said, turning away. She called over her shoulder, “Doug, make her happ
y, say you're sorry. Susan, I'm not a doctor but I'm pretty sure you'll be fine.”

  “I won't be happy until I get a settlement,” Susan yelled.

  A large, bearded man in a wool-lined denim jacket rushed from the crowd to stop Mina. “I have my fiddle in the car. Owen's in his store, and I saw Pastor Lucas's car at the church. The three of us will play the song.”

  “Griz—” He was gone before she could argue. Mina slapped her forehead. Her hand remained half-covering her eyes. Her old friend wrapped an arm around her. “It's okay. This is good for you, dear. Helping people connects you to them.”

  Mina peeked through her fingers. “And I want that?”

  The old woman looked at the crowd as if she weren't fully convinced herself.

  “They're our people, dear. We take them as they are.” She pulled a reluctant Mina back to the group.

  Calvin saw the tension in Mina's face. She had that wild animal look, like she might bolt any moment. He shuffled backwards, trying not to draw attention to himself. He didn't want her or any of these people turning on him right now. They all made him nervous.

  A few minutes later the burly man returned with his fiddle, accompanied by a large man in a grey suit who carried what looked like the fiddle's daddy. A man in a pastor's robe joined them with a banjo.

  As they began tuning their instruments, a fourth man in crisply ironed shirt buttoned all the way up hurried through the crowd with his guitar. He lowered his brows at them.

  “You guys weren't going to play without me? What's this Mar's Bar song we're doing?”

  There was a short discussion about whether or not all the members knew the song. A few bars were sung, after which it was established that enough of them knew it well enough. Apparently Griz's nephew, who was quite the ladies' man, had performed it at the church talent show. They even pulled him out of the crowd to sing. It was something Calvin was getting more and more eager to witness by the minute.

  The men tested their instruments and began playing. They picked up speed and confidence as they got into the swing of things, and Calvin could see by their expressions that the task wasn't one they minded. He could see Mina wringing her hands as more people stopped to watch the show, clapping along and jerking their knees to the beat. She closed her eyes, Calvin guessed either to block out the group of people congesting the street and sidewalk or to concentrate on something. At one point she cocked her head, and her brow furrowed.

  A bluegrass version of a Bruno Mars song wasn't something Calvin would have ever anticipated witnessing, let alone enjoying. He had to admit it wasn't bad. When the music stopped, the players looked at Mina, brows raised, instruments still in position, mouths half open. The crowd had the same expectant look, as if they were waiting for her to speak. Normally this was the time for thunderous applause. The silence in the cold, crowded street was creepy.

  Mina opened her eyes. She moved her mouth, as if the words she'd chosen wouldn't do.

  “Well?” Susan asked. “Did you see him push me?”

  “No. I didn't”

  A murmur went through the crowd.

  “He didn't push her, or you didn't see anything?” Griz asked, the eager expression fading from his face.

  “Maybe Mr. Mars has to sing it,” an old woman shouted from the crowd.

  Mina waved her arms, clearly flustered. “It's not that. He didn't shove her. I—I didn't see anyone shove her.”

  “Well, that's as clear as mud,” Susan said in a tight voice. “She's full of hokum like her mother. Doug, you'll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  “You heard her, Doug didn't do anything,” someone shouted.

  “Then what happened? Did she trip?”

  The noise swelled again as people began to argue. Calvin stepped in closer as Mina spoke to Doug.

  “Sorry, Doug. I wanted to help. It was all I could do.”

  Doug patted her back and Mina took the old woman's arm as they hustled back to the gold Cadillac.

  Calvin pulled out and drove slowly behind them again. He wasn't at all sure what he'd just witnessed. He couldn't figure out why Mina had been brought into that silly argument at all. It was as if they'd expected her to have some kind of vision of what happened. Mystical powers brought on by the power of a Bruno Mars tune would make good tabloid reading for sure. But maybe it was a little far-fetched, even for his paper.

  When the old woman pulled up to the curb, Mina got out, tossing an anxious look toward Calvin, who sat in his car behind them. The Cadillac pulled away as Mina wrapped her arms tightly around herself and hurried to the front door. Calvin stepped out of his car and walked toward her, easy and confident, as she fumbled with the key.

  “That was quite a show back there. Care to comment on what that was all about?”

  She glared at him. “Glad you enjoyed it. You won't be getting anything else from us. You should go home.” She twisted the key and opened the door.

  “Home's overrated. Don't you think?” He put just the right inflection into the sentence to make her realize it was a lead-up. It worked. She paused and glanced over her shoulder.

  He cleared his throat. “The briny sea rolls toward the beach and pulls back again, as if it doesn't want to stay, but can't quite leave. White foam sprays on millions of golden grains, tasting the possibility of what lies beyond, but never reaching it.”

  Mina turned slowly, her wide, dark eyes full of fury and fear. He knew he was taking a gamble on which one would win out.

  “That was one of my favorite entries. You really capture the essence of all those exotic places. I've never been to the beaches of Kauai,” he said. “But then, neither have you.”

  Chapter 6

  In a Scrape

  Bernadette clutched the folded up paper in her purse. Doug had kept it all these years. She'd never quite forgiven herself for what she'd done to him, even though she hadn’t had much choice. This made it worse. Couldn't he just be mean to her like she deserved? Not Doug. Now she had to go back to the diner because that meddling woman stuck a ring of keys into the bag along with the napkins.

  She folded her arms, tucking her bare fingers in. This place couldn't just be spring, either. Since her arrival, there had been a couple of days when the sun had shone on the buds waiting to burst with new life, but even they knew better. Everyone knew the sun was a tease until at least May, flashing its warm rays only to hide them behind a blanket of clouds again.

  Even so, Bernadette felt stronger today. She could leave the house freely now. Only one reporter remained. He just sat there most of the time, like a creepy stalker who wanted you to know he was there, watching, but not making his move. She wasn't even sure why he was still there. He'd taken a few shots of her when she left the house, but so far he hadn't even bothered following her. She could handle him.

  Her days of sleeping until noon were over, even if at first it was because she couldn't stand the judgmental look on her sister's face anymore. When she'd left California, she'd hoped to get away from all of that; people telling her what to do, expecting her to act a certain way. And yet, she'd ended up back home in Nebraska.

  All she needed was a break, somewhere far away from her friends who only talked about dieting and shopping and plastic surgery. Somewhere with real people.

  When she'd slammed her heel into Evan's car, she was so out of control that if he was around it might have found purchase in his face. It felt good, not caring what anyone thought, doing what she felt like doing. To tell the truth, it gave her chills to think of what would have happened if Evan really had been around. She'd seen him angry. It was a cold fury that lashed out without remorse. It hadn't been directed at her, at least not very often. But then she'd always been careful not to cross the line. His car and his dog were definitely on the other side of the line.

  She'd told herself it didn't matter, because she was through with him and was going to get as far away from him as possible. She was never the kind of girl to put up with what he'd done. Maybe that's why she chos
e to come here, to get a firm grip on who she was.

  But she'd had a lot of time to think. She wasn't Bernie anymore. People changed. They grew up.

  When she was younger, it always bothered her that her mother and Mina were special and she wasn't. At the same time, she was embarrassed at how some people looked at them, her fortune-teller mother, and Mina, who'd become a laughing stock in high school. It was a contradiction, but she'd wanted to prove she could be special like them, and, at the same time, that she wasn't like them at all.

  People used to tell her she should be an actress, and she'd decided that's what she wanted to do. Her mother's efforts to dissuade her from leaving town to chase after the stars of the glittering west coast only made her more determined to prove she could do it.

  She didn't come all that way just to let it go. She was an adult now. Adults didn't run, like Bernie ran from Doug on the night she learned the secret that was buried in this town. She would have to find a way to work things out. The public would forgive her, even though the photo of her stuffing her face with enough food for fifty of her skinny friends would be a setback. Evan might forgive her too, if she wanted him to. She just needed to decide if she could forgive him.

  Her relationship with Evan was like her favorite Louboutin heels: shiny, glamorous, and just what every woman in America thinks she wants. They are more than shoes, they serve a purpose as a status symbol. But shoes like that have a hefty price tag, not that it was enough to make Bernadette flinch. They were worth it, even though her feet hurt like heck at the end of the day.

  She'd known she couldn't get where she wanted to go without someone like him, so she let him tell her who to be. She got so used to it that it seemed like everyone had a say in it but her. She hated to admit it, but she'd become so dependent on him that she wasn't sure she could function without him. Now she was running around barefoot on her tippy-toes like a crazy person.

  As she hustled down the sidewalk, head down, Bernadette bumped full-force into someone. She threw her arms out, trying to keep her balance as her high-heels skittered around the sidewalk, like Ginger Rogers minus the grace. A hand grabbed her arm and she got her footing, then took a breath and looked up into the face.